


try

by swaybackgriefer



Series: A Corruptible Soul [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Belly Kink, Breeding, Children of Characters, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Idiots in Love, Magical Pregnancy, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mention of - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Pregnancy Kink, Rutting, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Wing Kink, alpha!orange, don't worry he is NOT a part of it, i swear i don't mean to talk about his hands so much it just happens, omega!greyscale, some crimson asshole is mentioned a few times, y'all this is literally so self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaybackgriefer/pseuds/swaybackgriefer
Summary: They'd been trying for months.Every single cycle yielded no pregnancy, no fledgelings. No matter how many times he bred her or how many times she prayed to the God that had cast her out to have mercy on her just once, just this one time, that she would never ask for anything ever again, but there was nothing; no answer, no pregnancy, no mercy from her Creator.And yet, after all this time, she still found him a worthy mate. He was still allowed in the nest. To hold her. To comfort her and tell her that it would take for sure next time. It still blew him away, even after centuries of devotion.Yet he still broke his promise over and over and over again.But this one is different; he can feel it in his bones.This time, it will take.He's sure of it.-(set a few years after "a lil quip")
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: A Corruptible Soul [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710631
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	try

Another negative.  
Though, he finds he doesn’t mind as his hips grind against hers, trying to get himself as deep as possible.  
He doesn’t care how many tries it takes; this is *his* mate to breed, his alone, and he’s going to breed her hard and good until there’s no denying that his fledgelings are the ones in her belly, his, and no one else’s.  
He tells her this, snarling in her ear like a wild animal, long-fingered hands clutching at her hips and burnt-orange wings pinning grey against sweat-slick skin as she tips her head back, resting it on her shoulder, and he can feel her heartbeat race even faster when he sinks his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, plush lips following against the heated skin a moment later as he brushes his mouth against the new bruise.  
A mark. A claim.  
Seeing the fresh redness already beginning to purple unlocks something primal inside him, and he wraps his wings tighter around the two of them, forcing her back against his chest, and she reaches back to grip his thigh, a low whine filling his ears and spurring him on further, faster, more ferociously, grip tightening on her hips and teeth clenching as he groans, relishing in the feeling of soft feathers on his chest, relishing in the glorious noises he’s eliciting from his mate, relishing in the way she clutches at him as if she never wishes to let go.  
Feathers in brilliant shades of shadows puff up, tickling the hollow of his throat, and he growls quietly in her ear, eyes sliding shut, as he feels her come undone around him, and he slows himself down, helping her extend her pleasure. It’s better that she comes before he does; they’ve both been told it helps the breeding take.  
He feels a calloused hand on his wrist and opens his eyes to see her guiding his hand toward her breast; his mind is immediately flooded with visions of his female, his mate, belly swollen and heavily bred with fledgelings, *his* fledgelings, the same breasts he now kneads with long-fingered hands growing full of milk and covered in stretch marks, and a choked-off moan escapes his throat as he realizes that he can breed her over and over and over again until they’ve got a whole flock of fledgelings in beautiful arrays of burnt-orange and greyscale and a plethora of variations and combinations of the two of them; a strong son with charcoal wings tipped with all the shades of the sunset, a feisty daughter with vermillion feathers shot through with veins of silver, and more, so many more.  
A feral grin crosses his face as he remembers the way the crimson-feathered male had courted her long ago, fake possessiveness and all, showing off for other females but never for her; it would not be that bastard’s fledgelings deep in his beautiful mate’s womb. There would be no scarlet-winged sons or ash-feathered daughters, no; there would be only his, his handsome children feathered in all the colours of the sunset and moonrise and everything in-between, and only he would get to see his mate like this, face and neck flushed prettily, normally powerful and intimidating wings pinned against her body, soft and willing and submitting.  
It was a sight he would never grow tired of.  
Quietly, she begs for him, for him to breed her, to claim what’s his, to fuck her full of burnt-orange fledgelings with long-fingered hands and narrow noses, and a noise he wasn’t aware he was capable of making bubbles up from his chest as he gently grabs her jaw and pulls her into a kiss, filthy and full of teeth and tongue and pure unfettered desire, burnt-orange wings freeing greyscale as long-fingered hands guide her onto her back and a narrow nose tucks into the hollow of her throat as the angle changes and groan escapes her as he somehow finds his way deeper, pressing his hips closer, the pleasure-pain-pull of her nails dragging down his back so much better.  
He raises his head to look at her, really look at her, at the pinkish-red heat blooming over the bridge of her nose, the line of her throat as she tips her head back and keens, and he growls deep in his chest a verbal command; her eyes snap open, pupils blown so wide it’s almost impossible to tell her eyes ever had any colour at all.  
He presses his forehead against hers, breathing in her air, slowing his hips to a grind, and the stuttering exhale she gives at the new sensation ghosts over his lips; gently, gently, he cups one side of her face in one long-fingered hand and strokes her cheekbone with a thumb, giving her a soft smile and allowing it to grow when she offers one in return.  
She quirks an eyebrow, smile turning smug, brushing her brilliant wings up against his, filtering the sunlight to create a world cast in burnt-orange and greyscale, and in that moment, he can’t help but fall in love with her all over again.  
Strong calves loop themselves over his narrow hips, drawing him deeper, spurring him on, and he understands, allowing himself to give in to the primal urges he’d been trying to keep at bay, no longer making love but fucking, one hand gripping the headboard, the other gripping his mate’s hip so hard it would most certainly bruise, and he swears, moving that hand to between her legs, mindlessly rambling aloud his thoughts as they raced through his head, promising to breed her, better than that crimson-feathered fuck could ever dream of, growling about fledgelings and knocking up his mate so good there’d be no doubt who she belonged to, how she would be the perfect mother to their flock, how gorgeous she would look all bred up, big and full of their fledgelings, feathered in every gorgeous colour from sunset to moonrise and-  
A scream tears from her throat as her wings bunch up, feathers cast in varying shades of greyscale nearly vibrating alongside her body as she reaches her peak, clutching desperately at her mate’s shoulders as he pistons his hips somehow faster than before, intent on getting as deep inside her as he can before he lets go, and then he’s right there with her, snarling into her throat, hips stuttering from the raw power of his release, whole body shaking, pulling her against him and holding her there, making sure nothing goes to waste; her legs still hold him close, also trying to prevent losing any of it, and she’s whispering in his ear, telling him how well he’s done, how full she is, how she can feel him deep inside her, how she’s his, only his, and he mutters into the hollow of her throat, breathy and fucked-out, that if this isn’t the one, he’d be more than okay with trying again- and even if it is, practice for next time won’t hurt, right?  
She laughs, drawing his face out of her neck to kiss him, soft and loving, pressing their foreheads together as they both giggle.


End file.
